


without a word

by PandorasBox (AdriannaRhode)



Series: more & more [4]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, F/M, Gentle Sex, Oral Sex, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Vanilla, coffeeshop meetcutes, cool roommates, han jisung is the best boy in the whole world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:16:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28941330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdriannaRhode/pseuds/PandorasBox
Summary: “You can’t run away forever,” comes Jisung’s voice, right behind you, like he’s reading your mind.You glance back and he’s there, steaming cup clutched in one hand. He’s following you.“Yes, I can,” you counter. “I’m good at it. I’m doing it right now.”
Relationships: Bang Chan/Han Jisung | Han/Seo Changbin/Reader, Han Jisung | Han/Reader
Series: more & more [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1972033
Comments: 9
Kudos: 67





	without a word

**Author's Note:**

> All of you who are looking for a happy resolution are going to KILL ME FOR THIS OOPS- 
> 
> For the record, I don't think Bang Chan is an asshole. He has his reasons, in this series. You'll figure it out.

You like being alone anyway. 

That’s what you tell yourself, on your way home that night, after the party, bundled into the backseat of a cab with your pounding head and shaky hands. You don’t cry. You don’t let yourself, even though it would probably help you feel better. Staying blank and unresponsive is much more manageable, so you stare out the window and wait until your neighborhood, and then your building, and then your apartment door comes into view. 

Your roommates are home when you all but trip in the front door, which isn’t ideal. But they’re sweethearts, the both of them, so you can’t just ignore them and run away to hide the way that you want to.

“Hey, you’re home early!” says Aisha, from her seat on the couch, in front of the TV. 

Her long dark hair is up in a ponytail, pretty face soft and bare, and she’s dressed in a fluffy hoodie and pajama pants. You envy the calm, easy night in that she’s probably had. 

“How was the party?” comes Kun’s voice, from farther away. 

You peer into the kitchen to find your handsome, calm other roommate at the stove, mixing what looks like hot chocolate in a small saucepan. It smells great, and you can’t help but get closer, coming in to lean on the counter and watch as he stirs the pot in neat little circles. 

“Want some?” he asks. 

“Not really,” you say. 

“So how was the party?” 

“It was okay,” you say tentatively.

“Meet anyone cute?” Aisha calls, over the sound of the TV.

You wince, hoping nobody notices. “I wish.” 

“Are you okay?” Kun looks sidelong at you, taking in your disheveled face and quiet demeanor. 

“Yeah, no, my stomach just hurts,” you say, pulling out the same excuse you’d used on your friends, earlier. 

Kun hums noncommittally. “Then no chocolate for you.” 

“No,” you agree, “I’m going to head to bed, I think. Too much to drink.” 

“Let us know if you need anything,” says Aisha. “Water, or something to eat. A headache pill.” 

She’s chewing her lip, concerned, when you walk past her on your way out of the living area. You offer her a weak smile, which she returns. She’s a good kid, younger and a little wilder than you and Kun but a perfect housemate. You don’t want to worry either of them more than necessary, since you’re more or less okay. 

It’s only when you’ve escaped and shut yourself in your bedroom that everything catches up to you. 

Right out loud, in a whisper that rips out of your throat faster than your still-tipsy brain can stop it, you admit it: 

“Broke my heart.” 

The words rattle around the room, shaking up the memory of Chan and of Changbin, in this bed with you, of their coldness and warmth in turn against your covers. You hate how it makes your chest clench and your head swim. 

Something about saying the words that are hurting you out loud, bringing them to life and making them real, cuts deeper than just thinking them ever will. 

It’s ridiculous. You’ve only known them, really known them, for a few weeks. Only slept with them few enough times to count on one hand. It’s not like you even have a relationship to mourn, or a commitment to be broken. But still, you’re swiping a hand over your eyes, tamping down your uneven breathing so that your roommates won’t hear you. 

This is so stupid. You’re going to bed, and you’re going to wake up and not give a shit anymore.

\---------------

You wake up and give less of a shit. 

Not the first day, of course. It takes like a week. 

That’s two more times of seeing and avoiding the boys in your shared class, but eventually, you do give less of a shit. Graduation is approaching anyway, and if you can just hold out long enough, you never have to see any of them again. 

But graduation and the end of the term means that your undergraduate academic career is drawing to a close. Your thesis is due, your classes are ending, your commitments are petering out.

You’re ready. As much as you sort of wish you were a different kind of person, your previous nearly-four years of school were all spent laying low. You have your friends, and your roommates, and classmates, but you’re by and large a good student with your head on straight. Your thesis is complete, already, with time to spare. For once in your life, you haven’t procrastinated. The digital file of it sits on your desktop, polished from abstract to citations, ready to go.

Actively avoiding large social situations in order to avoid those three people you want to see least has given you plenty of time for school. It’s a lame silver lining, but it’s a silver lining nonetheless. 

D-Day for the climax of your academic career comes faster than you would have thought possible. 

It’s comforting in its own way to present your thesis on the same day as the rest of your small department. The whole lot of you are scheduled to give your half-hour talks back-to-back on a long Saturday afternoon. Visitors are free to come and go, coffee and pastries are available on the school’s dime, and friends and family are welcome to come listen and support their graduates. 

You’re sat in the front row with the other seniors, your friend and classmate Sana by your side. You fiddle with the shoulder straps of your nice dress, not necessarily nervous but just anticipating the fact that a hundred-odd eyes will be on you soon. 

“Did anyone come?” Sana asks. 

You shrug. “My roommates.” 

“No one else?” she asks. 

Her tone is even and unpitying, but the unspoken question is clear – no family? 

“My parents don’t live very close,” you tell her, “It’s fine. They’ll watch the video that the department posts on the website.” 

Sana nods, nudging you a little with her shoulder. “We’ll all cheer extra, okay?” 

You appreciate it, silently. You’re not bothered much that your parents couldn’t (or wouldn’t, as you suspect the case may be) get a flight all the way to your school to watch your thesis presentation in person. It’s okay. Just one more shitty thing to throw into the garbage fire that is your emotional state, as of late. 

But it’s fine. You’re not giving a shit. 

The presentation itself passes in the blink of an eye. You’re called up to the stage by your faculty advisor, and then you’re giving your closing remarks, seemingly in the space of one breath. You know your material so thoroughly; your sources and your slides are like part of your body. Rattling off your data is second nature. Your main argument might as well be your own birthday, for how solidly it lives in your head. Your infographics might as well be drawn inside your eyelids, mapped out on your skin, so close by for the last couple years. It’s all part of you. 

And when you’re done, and your eyes focus again on the crowd, the clapping and modest cheers echo around the small auditorium. 

You can see Sana and Dahyun making fools of themselves down front, in the name of applauding you extra hard. But as you’re scanning the crowd for Kun and Aisha, to meet their eyes and know where to find them after you’ve come down from the stage, you see something else.

Three somethings. Three someones. 

There are three seats, in the middle of a row, that are empty. And standing up, walking down the row and away, toward the back door to escape without a word, there they are. 

All three of them. They’re dressed so nicely, in shirts and sweaters and slacks, rather than the jeans and hoodies that you’ve come to know. It looks like they’re really here to cheer someone on, to fit into this room of proud parents and friends. And they’re leaving. 

They came…to see you? 

They watched your presentation all the way to the end, and now they’re leaving.

You can feel the way your stomach has fallen, the way your pulse pounds in your ears. You’re sure your expression is ghastly. All you want to do is shout after them, as they walk away, backs to you. As Chan reaches to push the door open, as Jisung and Changbin follow him out. 

You don’t say anything, but you want to. You can feel the words bubbling in the back of your throat, pushing past that lump that threatens tears, through the pride you had felt in yourself that’s just been shattered against the floor. 

Come back.

\---------------

Big significant things really shouldn’t happen at places where you never expect anything to happen. 

That’s the rationale you’re going to stick with, just to make yourself feel better. You just aren’t expecting it, and that’s why your choices are so questionable. Because you never expect anything important to happen at Monster Coffee, the little coffee takeout shop on the corner, perfectly halfway between your apartment and campus. 

You just need a big latte. Just a large hot vanilla latte, and then you can get back to finishing the rest of your assignments. It’s a Monday afternoon, the week after your senior thesis, and you’re determined to get your homework done today, for the whole rest of the week. 

There are only three weeks left of the term, and four until you graduate. You don’t want any more stress. You’ve had enough stress for a lifetime. 

As you lean against the wall, waiting for the familiar, kind older woman behind the counter to make your coffee, the little bell above the front door rings as someone comes in. You don’t even look up, busy on your phone, but the voice that speaks nearly makes you lose it right there on the spot. 

“Hey, there’s my girl.” 

You let your eyes wander up, and there’s Jisung. 

He smiles at you like nothing’s changed. Has anything changed? 

“Am I in your way?” you ask, leaning slightly to one side as if to let him past, and Jisung’s expression falls a little. 

“Do you…not want to talk to me?” he asks. 

You’re taken aback. Why would he care? Why would any of them care? 

“I dunno, why would I want to?” you say, more fiercely than you mean it to sound. 

“Just cuz you’re mad at Chan doesn’t mean you have to be mad at me, too,” Jisung says curtly. 

He turns, with that, and orders his own coffee, leaving you standing there shell-shocked. 

“I’m not mad at Chan,” you say to Jisung’s back. “Why would you think that?” 

Jisung doesn’t answer you until he’s paid and moved away from the register. 

“Well, you’ve been ignoring us,” he says, “And Chan’s the only one who’s done anything to piss you off, fucking asshole that he can be. So it’s not crazy to assume.” 

“I’m not mad at Chan,” you repeat. 

“Then you’re mad at someone,” he says. 

“Why do I have to be mad?” 

“Because you’re ignoring us.” 

You bristle. “You guys are ignoring ME!” 

“Chan kind of is, I won’t deny that. But you haven’t reached out at all,” Jisung says. 

“Maybe I just don’t know what to say!” you say, frustrated. 

Jisung shrugs. “And I’m saying that there’s probably a reason for that. You’re mad.” 

“Look, I’m not the one who-”

You cut yourself off. You’re not about to get into this here, in public, surrounded by people who you will certainly see again. This is a place that you frequent, you don’t need to make a scene. The barista calls your order, saving you if only for a moment, and you dart over to collect your coffee and your thoughts. 

Chan blew you off at that party to go seduce someone new with Changbin and Jisung, exactly the way they seduced you. Probably exactly the way they’ve seduced people before you. You’re not special. You never should have assumed that you were. 

Without a word, you turn your back on Jisung, and bluster out the door again. You put distance between yourself and the coffeeshop, walking as fast as you can without running. You’re not running away. Or, at least, you don’t want to look like you are. 

“You can’t run away forever,” comes Jisung’s voice, right behind you, like he’s reading your mind. 

You glance back and he’s there, steaming cup clutched in one hand. He’s following you. 

“Yes, I can,” you counter. “I’m good at it. I’m doing it right now.”

“Well maybe I don’t want you to run from me,” he says. 

“You have plenty of people to hook up with,” you reply, still walking away, “You don’t need to make a big deal about this. Just leave me alone.” 

He keeps pace with you, staying just a step behind. “Sure, but those people aren’t you.” 

“Don’t try to flatter me,” you roll your eyes. 

“I’m not trying to flatter you, shit. I’m just being honest. I just miss you,” Jisung says. 

“You can’t miss me,” you say, scathing, whipping around to face him. “You don’t even know me.” 

“I do, though.” 

“No you don’t. You’ve fucked me. You’ve messed around with me. But you don’t fucking know me,” you say. 

“Then let me take you out.” 

You blink. “Excuse me?” 

Jisung’s voice is even, his face serious. “Let me take you out. On a date. A real one. And I’ll get to know you.” 

“But you – you and the others-”

“Fuck the others, I can date freely,” Jisung says, “I’m a person with autonomy and an open relationship.” 

“So, what, then?” you cross your arms, “Dinner date? Or a movie or something? With you?” 

“If you’ll let me,” Jisung nods. 

You want to say no. You want to retreat back to your cave and work on being alone, continue to lick your wounds that you’ve given yourself by being emotionally open for once and having it immediately come back to bite you. 

But then again…you took a risk on these three. A risk that’s so unlike you. You just wanted to fuck around a little, and instead you got a strange friendship and maybe a burgeoning situationship that went to shit so fast that you never even got to imagine what it could have been. 

You’re curious. Part of you, a bigger part than you want to admit, wants to know exactly what Jisung thinks he can do to make this all right, and fix how you feel. 

So you look him dead in the eye. “Okay.” 

“Really?” he asks, perking back up.

“Yeah, really. You can have one chance.”

“It’s not a chance,” he insists, “I’m not trying to pull anything. I just miss you.” 

You find that hard to believe. 

“We can go out,” you say again. “Just once.” 

Jisung smiles at you, all round cheeks and his charming crooked front tooth. You hate how much you like it. 

“I won’t let you down,” he promises.

\---------------

Jisung’s idea of a good date is a surprise to you, but considering what you know about his personality, it really shouldn’t be. He sends you the address right away, after you’ve parted ways on the sidewalk. But you don’t bother looking at it until Thursday afternoon, when you’ve planned to meet up. You sling on an actual outfit and make the journey across the neighborhood to the address. 

It’s a dessert café. A tiny place with a stone and flower garden and a rooftop terrace that overlooks the rest of the hanok houses in the neighborhood. Jisung is sat on a bench out front when you walk up, and the look he gives you when he spots you makes you very nearly blush. 

“That’s not what you were wearing before,” he says. 

He means early this morning, in class, and you glance awkwardly down at your dress and the blouse layered beneath. You never dress up for class, and especially not your morning classes.

“I didn’t want – this is a date, after all,” you reply, uneasy. 

“It’s nice,” he assures you, “Just so…feminine.” 

You’d never put much thought into how outwardly feminine you appear, or don’t appear, as it seems to be. Jisung isn’t being rude about it, but still. You wonder what he thinks of you, why it would surprise him that you’re just…wearing some clothes. Are you that lazy, the rest of the time? 

Your self-consciousness must show on your face, because Jisung just hops off the bench and nods toward the door. 

“This place has great cheesecake,” he says. 

“You like cheesecake?” you ask, amused despite yourself. 

“Love it,” he grins. 

The inside of the café is painted white and vaguely industrial in that way that trendy urban places like to be, with interesting metal lighting fixtures and monochrome art in rustic frames. 

“Can I order for you?” Jisung asks, “I wanna surprise you.” 

“Sure,” you agree, almost too easily. 

His thoughtfulness surprises you. You’re not certain exactly what you would have expected from Jisung, but it’s not this kind of soft, open affection, the eagerness to treat you. While Jisung orders, you snag a table in the corner with nobody around, near a front window, overlooking the neat little garden. 

“You like the window seat, huh?” Jisung comments, as he joins you with the little order number standee. 

“I like to people-watch,” you say. “I usually go places alone, so it passes the time.” 

“You don’t need to go places alone,” he says. 

“I don’t mind it,” you tell him, as he sits down to face you.

“But you don’t need to. I’ll go anywhere with you.” 

He says it with such a goofy smile, you just reach across the tabletop and shove him gently on the shoulder. 

“Shut up! You have two boyfriends to stay loyal to, go flirt with them,” you hush him. 

“They know all my best lines, it’s not as fun,” he replies. “Plus, there’s always room in my heart for more.” 

“More and more,” you say idly. 

“Always on the hunt,” he jokes. 

You smile, but then you ruin it for yourself. You look at Jisung, so happy and calm, so ready to flirt and add more people to his little circle of intimacy, and you see that party. That night, with that other person in front of him. You wonder how Hyunjin compares to you. You wonder if he’s replaced you as the newest toy. 

“So,” Jisung says, oblivious to your internal plight, “I want to get to know you.” 

“Do you really?” you ask. 

“That’s what this is about, right?” he leans his chin in his hand, elbow propped on the table between the two of you. “Just tell me about you.” 

“Let’s see…” you say, at a loss for what to share with him. 

“What’s your favorite color?” he asks, with a grin. 

You tell him. 

“Favorite food?” 

You tell him. 

“I know your coffee order…” he hums, “What about your drink order, at the bar?” 

With a half-smile, you tell him that, too. 

“Those are all my Tinder date questions,” he quips, “Now tell me something interesting.”

He’s looking at you so expectantly, so sweet. But you can’t shake the way you’ve been feeling for so many weeks now. 

“I saw you that night,” you say, voice low. 

You can’t hold it back. He needs to know, before you do anything else. 

“Saw me?” he repeats. 

The café host approaches the table, giving you a second to organize your thoughts as he places down your tray, the drinks and the plate holding Jisung’s cheesecake. The man excuses himself just as quickly as he came. 

“At that party,” you say. “The frat party. I was there. I saw you.” 

Jisung’s eyes blow wide, and his smile fades, and you know that he knows what you mean. 

“So, you saw us,” he clarifies, “You…you saw…” 

“I saw,” you nod. 

“You could have said hi,” Jisung says weakly. 

You want to tell him. You want to say how Chan saw you, spoke to you, and left you there, left you standing there staring after him like a fucking idiot. You want to say how much that hurt you. But you can’t. There are tears prickling the corners of your eyes, threatening to well up and fall if you even try to tell him. 

So you don’t. You swallow the sentiment, and you put on a brave smile, as brave as you can muster. You’re not going to let him know exactly how vulnerable you really are. Nobody gets to know that. Not now.

Jisung just regards you for a moment, looking more hurt than you expected. More ashamed. You take the drink that he offers you, an iced thing with flowers floating on the pale surface of the liquid, and you take a sip. It tastes like lavender, light and sweet. 

“We didn’t fuck Hwang Hyunjin.” 

You look up at Jisung in confusion. “You didn’t? Why not?” 

His expression is sheepish. “He turned us down.” 

“Oh.” 

You’re quiet for a moment. 

“Would you have slept with him if he was up for it?” you ask. 

“Maybe,” Jisung replies, honest and flat. 

“Would you have wanted him to dom you guys, too?” you ask, hoping that the jealousy isn’t dripping from your voice like you fear it is. 

Jisung tilts his head, regards you with big eyes. “Have you ever had sex without, like, strict roles? Just sex? Nobody domming or subbing or anything?” 

You have to think about that one. 

“Yeah,” you say, after a moment, “Yeah, I have. But it’s never very good.” 

“How do you mean?” 

“I dunno,” you shrug, stirring your straw around in your drink, “If I’m sleeping with a man, he tends to need some kind of plan. If I dom, that’s a plan. I can make sure that everything is okay and that everyone has fun.” 

“You can have fun just being intimate with someone,” Jisung says. 

“Some people can, I’m sure. Maybe I just can’t,” you say. 

“I think you can.” 

“Well, I sure haven’t done it yet,” you say. 

“Maybe you just haven’t had plain sex with anyone who actually cares about you,” Jisung says. 

And if that isn’t just a little too real. In a dom/sub situation, there are rules. The players set the rules, and then follow them. Feelings don’t have to factor in at all. Some people seek out kink arrangements nonsexually, just to enjoy the dynamic and the care that comes with a safe and properly structured scene.

You enjoy domming, and you’re more interested in subbing than ever before, but as for pleasant, equal vanilla sex…you just don’t know.

“Do you want to try?” Jisung asks. 

“Try…” 

“Just doing it. No rules, no roles,” he says. 

“With you?” you ask, incredulous. 

“No one better,” Jisung quips lightly. 

You sip at your drink again, letting that rich herb and coffee flavor wash over you as you think. If there was anyone who could pull you out of your shell and let you just exist without pretense, Jisung might just be that person. You think back to that first night together, when you teased him by suspending him on the back of the couch with only your arms holding him up, that low-risk high-tension game. You were there to catch him. 

It’s not far-fetched to imagine that he could return the favor. 

“If I don’t like it, we stop,” you warn. 

Jisung grins. “That’s how all sex should work.” 

“Don’t be a pain, you know what I mean.” 

“I know,” he agrees. 

This is a bad idea. It’s probably a terrible idea, actually. But Jisung, here in his big hoodie and messy hair, handsome and casual…he’s just so tempting. You think about the way he sounded beneath you, the way his body looked on display for you. 

You think about how he held you, that night that in your kitchen, the way that he was there for you even though he didn’t have to be. Your emotions aren’t his responsibility, and neither are Chan’s actions, but he was still there. 

You think about how he fought with Chan over you, and your safety and comfort, when he thought you couldn’t hear. 

Maybe you can let Jisung in, just a little.

\---------------

Jisung’s apartment is a lot like your own. It’s a small student housing building, a three-bedroom unit that he shares with two other people from your university. You don’t get much of a chance to look around, though, because you’re wrapped around Jisung as soon as the front door is closed behind you. 

Your hands are fisted in his hoodie, his arms locked around your waist, as the two of you trip out of your shoes and jackets around each other. 

“I don’t think the girls are home,” Jisung pants against your mouth. 

“The girls?” you answer, “Your roomies are both girls?” 

He nods. “Chae and Ryu. Their rooms are dark, I think they’re out.” 

“Explains a lot about you,” you tease. 

“That I live with girls?” he grins. 

“Yeah, maybe that’s why you’re not such an asshole. Sheer exposure.” 

“I mean, Chan and ‘Bin both have sisters,” Jisung shrugs as best he can, and leans in to kiss you again, “And they’re still like that.” 

You laugh. “I guess some people can’t be saved.” 

If Jisung’s roommates were home, they’d be getting an eyeful, because you strip off Jisung’s hoodie right there in the entry. He reappears from under the garment, hair even more mussed, looking surprised and amused. He’s not wearing anything beneath, so you have a perfect view of his slim torso, his narrow hips dipping under the waistband of his tight jeans. 

“You’re bold,” he says, sounding more admiring than bothered. “Not even in your own home and you’re ready to get it on right here.” 

“I just couldn’t wait,” you pout, “You’re so pretty, and I missed-”

You choke back that admission, but Jisung picks up on it anyway. His expression softens, as he collects his discarded hoodie and herds you back toward the bedrooms, but he doesn’t say anything. You’re grateful for that. 

“I know more or less what you like,” Jisung says, as he lets you into his room, “So you just let me know if I do anything that you don’t like. But you know that.” 

His room is more of what you’d expect from a college boy’s room than Changbin’s and Chan’s were. It’s messy, full of school papers and clothes thrown on the floor. But it’s homey, and the whole place smells like detergent and scented candles. He’s messy, but not dirty. 

The bedroom door shuts, and it’s just you and him and the gentle evening sunlight filtering through his sheer curtains. Jisung’s hands find the back of your dress, toying with the dainty zipper that splits the fabric down your spine. 

“I’m going to take this off,” he says. 

It’s not a question, not an order. Just a statement, with room for you to confirm or deny. 

“Okay,” you say. 

He smiles. He nods. Easy as that, his fingers pull down the zip, and the dress falls from your shoulders to pool on the floor at your feet. You’re left in your blouse and your panties, and Jisung just regards you with fondness. 

“Are you nervous?” he asks. 

The question surprises you. You don’t think that you’re nervous. You know how sex works, at every turn and for all kinds of acts, and you know Jisung well enough to not have to worry about how he’ll be in bed, or if he’ll like what you have to offer. 

But still, you’re stiff. You’re in no rush to get out of your clothes, nearly bashful when usually you pride yourself on your easy aloof confidence in the bedroom. 

“I don’t…” you hesitate, “I don’t know how to do this if I’m not, like…” 

“In control?” Jisung guesses. “That makes sense.” 

“I still want to do it,” you say. 

“We can just take it slow, it’s all okay,” he tells you. 

You nod. 

Jisung goes for his own jeans next, sliding out of the denim like he’s nothing, and you envy his easy comfort. Without your dom mask, without complete control of who speaks and who touches and who moves, you don’t know what to do with yourself. You don’t know how to just enjoy. 

“I wanna kiss you again,” Jisung says. 

Again, it’s just a casual statement. Not laced with anything, no force behind it. You marvel at him. 

You reach out at that, not trusting your words to serve you, and he all but falls into your arms, cupping your face in both hands as he presses his lips to yours gently. 

“I don’t know what you’re so scared of,” he says, sneaking the sentence between kisses, “But you don’t have to be scared with me.” 

“It’s not like a switch I can flip,” you say, pulling away from his kiss-bitten mouth to bury your face in the soft juncture of his shoulder. “I just can’t relax. I can’t help it.” 

His hands smooth down your back, over the fabric of your blouse. 

“We’ll work on it,” he promises, “Starting with this.” 

Jisung goes for the first button on your blouse, and you say nothing as you let him pop the delicate fixtures out of their loops. And when he’s finished, he just lets his hands slide back up to your face, thumb grazing your cheek. 

“No bra,” he comments. 

“That dress has all that padding up top, it was bulky,” you say. 

“Oh, I’m not complaining.” 

His smile is soft and sneaky, and you can’t help the rush of affection that you feel for him as he gazes at you. Just like that night in your kitchen, Jisung sits down on his bed, and pats his lap, as if to invite you. And also like that night, you come right over to straddle him, settle your legs on either side of his hips. There are only two thin layers separating your heat, tentatively wet from the promise of something more, from him. 

But for once, your first thought isn’t about how to get from this to sex. No, it’s about how warm Jisung is, how his little frame holds you up, how he curls into you. How nice it is to just be held, like you’re something special.

“We could totally just dry-hump like this, if you’re really too freaked out,” Jisung says conversationally, words muffled into your hair.

You laugh. 

“I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime,” you reply. 

“Were you a horny teenager, too?” he asks. 

“The horniest,” you agree.

“Doesn’t surprise me.” 

You both laugh at that. 

Jisung takes hold of your blouse and tugs it off your shoulders, tossing it without a care in favor of tracing his warm palms from your collarbones, down your front, to tweak your nipples just to be annoying, letting his hands finally come to rest on your hips. 

“You’re still beautiful,” he tells you. “I was worried you’d have changed since before.” 

“Changed how?” you ask. 

He looks you in the eye, very sincerely. “Third boob.” 

“Stupid,” you mutter, rolling your eyes at him and trying to stifle your shocked laughter. 

“It’s a valid concern,” he insists, obviously very intent on fucking with you. 

If he’s doing it to break the tension and put you more at ease, then he’s doing an amazing job. But he’s still a dumbass. You don’t need to encourage it by laughing. 

“You’d still be pretty with an extra tit, but it would take some getting used to,” Jisung continues. 

“You’re really fixated on this,” you say. 

“I have nightmares sometimes. Body horror.” 

You can’t with him. You climb off Jisung’s lap and he whines at the loss of your warmth, but you just crawl up the bed and collapse on your back against his pillows. He turns to watch as you get situated, settling more comfortably, stretching so that your spine pops. 

“Can we do it like this?” you ask. 

“Do the sex?” he smirks. 

Your face burns with self-consciousness, but you fight through it.

“I wanna see you,” you say, “I wanna just…” 

“No, no, we absolutely can,” Jisung soothes immediately, still smiling and so, so calm. 

He makes his way up the bed after you, pausing to press a kiss to your knee, and beside your navel, and then the center of your chest, as he moves to cover you with himself. He smirks once you’re face to face, and quirks an eyebrow.

“Hey.” 

“Hi,” you answer, suddenly breathless. 

“I haven’t gotten to taste you yet,” Jisung says, “Can I?” 

“If you want to, sure,” you say. 

“I want to,” Jisung assures you. 

He snaps the waistband of your panties against your skin gently, and at your little squeak of encouragement, he slides down the bed so that he’s even with your covered heat. He runs a finger over you, through the panties, and you shiver. 

“Lift your hips for me?” he requests. 

You do, picking yourself up so that he can slide the thin fabric off you. 

“Only a taste,” Jisung says, as he tickles his fingers along the skin on the outside of your slit. “I want us to cum together.” 

“How romantic of you,” you reply, “But what if I just wanna cum like this AND like that?” 

“If that’s really what you want, I can do that,” Jisung says easily. “But I also think you’ll like it if we just save it up.” 

“Cumming together is nice,” you admit. 

“Then just let me have this taste,” he hums. 

He brings his face back down to you, and at your whine, he leans in to spread you with one hand and lick a gentle stripe up your core. It’s just soft pressure, teasing, not enough to get you off, by a long shot, but plenty to make you sigh and melt against the mattress. 

His careful fingers and mouth search you, not taking so much as giving, just exploring your body slowly. You try to keep your mind blank and open, as you squirm and push your hips into the pressure, and Jisung lets you. 

No roles. No rules. 

He pulls back after a few long moments, and you catch your breath in his wake. 

“I know the whips and cuffs are fun,” Jisung mumbles against the soft skin of your thigh, “But isn’t it nice to just be here with me?” 

Suddenly, you can hear Chan’s voice in your head, saying something so similar but delivered so differently. 

“You could admit that even if you’re not in charge and acting all high and mighty, you just like being here with me.”

You push the memory away. Why does everyone want you to let go so badly? Don’t they know that control is the only think keeping people from just…losing it? From losing themselves? You feel like you’re always a hair’s breadth from losing yourself anyway, why make it easier? 

Why let go? 

“I do like it,” you say, very very quietly, barely more than a breath. 

Whether Jisung hears you or not, you don’t know. But he doesn’t react. He just presses a kiss to the inside of your leg, and sits up a bit so he can slide off his underwear, too. 

“We haven’t really gotten to do this, have we?” Jisung comments. 

He’s right, you realize. You’d teased him plenty, that other night, and given him what was less than half a blowjob, but you haven’t had Jisung like this yet. 

“Condom or no condom?” you ask him.

“That’s up to you,” he replies, “More consequence to you if something goes wrong. I’m fine with either.” 

“Can we do it without?” you half-whisper.

“Anything you want,” Jisung answers easily. 

He’s back on top of you before you know it, face hovering above yours. His slim body rests between your legs, holding himself up on his knees as he gets settled there. 

“It is kinda weird like this,” you say. 

“What do you mean?” he grins. 

You gesture vaguely between the two of you. “I dunno. Missionary?” 

“What’s wrong with it?” 

“I feel like I’m just laying her doing nothing,” you complain. 

“That’s not true. And even if it was, it’s okay to want that, sometimes,” Jisung says. “This is just about us being here, remember? Just two people, nothing else.” 

You knew this would be hard for you, this whole thing about just being, existing rather than planning and doing. But you didn’t expect that you would be able to talk about it openly like this. Jisung’s not shy, and he’s not bothered by your hesitation. You don’t know how he’s managing it. 

He glances downward. “If you’re ready, I’m gonna-”

“Yes,” you interrupt, “Please.”

Jisung is nothing if not responsive. He lines himself up, and pushes in slowly. Luxuriously, almost, just enjoying the slow thick slide of it. You can see in his face just how much he’s enjoying it, as his eyes fall shut and his mouth falls open. He drops more fully on top of you, hands propped near your head on the mattress, driving into you experimentally, slowly.

You know logically that among the three boys, Jisung is technically the least well-endowed. Size is not what matters in the slightest, of course, because you’re not an asshole, but you’re still just human and you’re reasonably curious about how different people perform in bed. You can firmly say, however, that size does not matter with him.

All of your nerves are already on edge from the unintended anxiety of it all, heightening the sensation of him against your sensitive walls. You swear his fingertips burn against your skin as they pry your legs a little farther apart, as they come to smooth up your sides. This isn’t that fuzzy half-awareness like subbing, or that analytical pretense of domming. This is just the feeling of it, not better or worse, just extremely different.

There’s no game to play, nothing to think about. 

“What are you thinking so hard about?” Jisung asks, voice thin. 

You didn’t realize you had closed your eyes, but you have to open them to look up at his face. There’s a single thin bead of sweat trailing down from his hairline, and you reach up to brush it away. You admire his face for a second, letting the pleasure build up in you, steady and warm and calm. Jisung has such round, soft features, not as masculine as his two boyfriends but pretty and striking in a different way. 

“Pretty,” you murmur. 

Jisung smiles, showing you that slightly crooked front tooth that you’re a bit obsessed with. “Thanks, but I’m sure that’s not what you were thinking.” 

You laugh gently. “I was thinking…that I don’t have to think.” 

“You’re psyching yourself out about not thinking?” 

He’s making a face at you, and you squirm a bit under him, lifting one leg higher to hook it around his back. That changes the angle a bit, so he’s driving into you infinitesimally deeper, and it sends a shiver up your spine. 

“I’m always thinking,” you say, “And you said I’m not supposed to be overthinking this. What do I do, then?” 

“You enjoy,” Jisung says simply. 

As if to prove his own point, he sits back a bit, freeing up his hands. He takes a second to brush back your hair, smoothing it back in the places where the gentle rocking of your body as his hips drive home into you mussed the strands against the pillow. It’s tender in a way that makes you almost uncomfortable, familiar and intimate beyond the rest of what you’re doing. 

But you are enjoying it. 

Jisung lets his hand trail back down to where the two of you meet, and you can feel as he lets his fingertips brush over your folds. You realize with a start that he’s feeling his own cock sink into you, and that notion sends another wave of pleasure through you, right from your head to the curl of your toes. 

“If we keep going like this, I’m not gonna last much longer,” Jisung tells you. 

“That’s okay,” you answer. 

That’s what this is about, right? That’s what he keeps saying? It’s about being together, not about what does and doesn’t happen. 

“I know it’s okay,” he quips, in perfect form even now, “I’m just letting you know.” 

When Jisung presses a finger firmly to your clit, you can’t help the gasp that escapes from your throat or the way your hips jump up against his. Your hands fly up to cover your own face, overwhelmed as you are. You didn’t think you were all that close, but as soon as he’s giving you some consistent pressure, combined with the pace he’s keeping, you can feel the prickling beginnings of an orgasm. 

“Jisung!” you whine, embarrassed at yourself as soon as your own broken voice hits your ears. 

“I know,” he soothes. 

He falls back down to lean over you, to peel your hands away and smother your face in kisses. His fingers keep working against your poor clit even as he traps his arm between your bodies. 

“Doing okay?” he asks. 

You’re face to face, nose to nose, so close that you feel like you could drown in him. You feel like you have cartoon stars in your eyes. You have to, right? With the way your chest is clenching as you look up at Jisung? The way your stomach is falling? This kind of feeling is only in movies, only in shoujo manga. 

“I’m okay,” you answer, when you trust your tongue again. “Jisung, I want-”

“You can let go,” he tells you. 

So casual. So calm. Just the same. Just Jisung. 

For maybe the first time, your orgasm really feels like letting go. It’s not a climb so much as a fall, and you arch into Jisung’s chest. His free hand holds you close, and dimly through your own tremors you can feel his hips stutter to a stop against you as he cums, too, buried deep, so much skin against skin. 

“I told you,” he pants, as both of you return to earth, “I told you it would be better together.” 

He was right, too. 

Suddenly, you’re being turned onto your side, and Jisung is sliding out of you and dropping himself onto the mattress properly behind you. He’s still so warm, a little sweaty in the afterglow, but the contact is nice, so you don’t complain. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, amused. 

“I wanna be the big spoon,” he says, tugging you more firmly against him.

“You strike me as a little spoon,” you reply.

He loops an arm over the dip of your waist. “I am. Usually. But I wanna be big spoon.” 

“Whatever you say.” 

Though you’re not quite sure how much time has passed, the sun is gone, and the light coming in the window is now just the last rays of pink and the sharp yellow of streetlights outside. Jisung’s breathing evens out behind you, and you can feel his heartbeat against your back. 

You’re no stranger to aftercare, but something feels different, now. Heavier. More sincere. It scares you a little.

“Jisung,” you say, quietly into the twilight. 

He perks up right away. “Mm?” 

“What does falling in love feel like?” 

You can feel the gentle huff of his laughter against the back of your neck. You’re glad he can’t look you in the eye right now. He would absolutely take the chance to tease you, and that would ruin it.

But you can hear the smile on his face when he answers, “Kind of like this.” 

\---------------

You wake up to voices. 

Not for the first time, you roll over in a bed that isn’t yours to find yourself alone. Jisung isn’t in the bedroom, you note, as you sit up and rub the sleep out of your eyes. But there are voices elsewhere in the apartment. 

It’s morning. You slept for a long time. You wonder when Jisung left the room, how long you’ve been here alone. 

You crawl out of bed and throw on your blouse and panties, not wanting to be caught naked and unawares, and once you’re decent, you move to the bedroom door to take a better listen. The hinges creak a bit as your crack the door and peer out. 

“I’m telling you, bro, something about that synth line-”

Chan. It’s Chan’s voice. He’s here, you realize with no small horror, he’s here and so are you. 

You’re not ready for this. You can’t face him now, not after sleeping with Jisung like this. Even though your shoes and coat are in the entry, even though he might know you’re back here, you can’t let this happen. 

Heart pounding in your chest, you slip on your dress, not bothering to do up the zipper, and gather your things and silently panic as you weigh your options. If you walk out there, Chan will one hundred percent know what happened. If you stay here, you’re trapped, and if he comes to talk to you there’s no easy way out. 

But your saving grace comes in the form of a girl’s voice, high and pretty, singing a ballad. 

You can hear it through the wall, from the room next door that you vaguely remember as the bathroom, from the glance that you got into the open door as you made your way to Jisung’s room at the end of the hall. Jisung’s roommates are here. They can help. 

As you listen, the bathroom door opens, and you peek out the crack you’ve made as subtly as possible. The girl, brunette and wet-haired and slim and beautiful in her pajamas, goes into the bedroom directly across the hall, and leaves the door ajar. So you gather all of your nerve, and you go after her. 

“Excuse me?” you say, as quietly as you can. 

She jumps, but looks up at you. “Oh! Oh my God, hi!” 

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly, “But, look, I’m-”

“I know who you are,” she interrupts. 

“Can I come in?” you ask, glancing back over your shoulder in the direction of the living room, where you can still hear Chan’s voice talking enthusiastically. 

“Sure,” the girl nods. 

You come into her room, and shut the door gently. “Thank you. I can’t – I just – I’m sorry, I can explain, but it’s-”

The girl waves her hand as if to dismiss your fears. “You’re (Y/N), right? I’ve heard a little bit about you.” 

You nod. “That’s me. I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name.” 

“Chaeryeong,” the girl offers, with a smile. 

She really is pretty, with soft features and an interesting nose. You can definitely imagine how this unflappable girl gets along well with Jisung. 

“Nice to meet you. Though maybe not like this,” you say wryly. 

“Did I hear Chan-oppa out there? Is that why you’re hiding?” Chaeryeong asks. 

“It’s a long story but I don’t think he’d be all that happy to see me,” you tell her. 

Chaeryeong’s grin turns a little sad. “Then you can hang out here until he goes.” 

She sits down at a chair in front of a wooden vanity, picking up a hairbrush from the dressing table and running it through her chestnut-colored hair. 

“You can sit on the bed,” she offers. 

“Thanks.” 

You do as she says, settling against her pastel duvet that smells like the same detergent as Jisung’s. Chaeryeong turns on some music, letting the sound fill the room from her Bluetooth speaker and muffling out the sound of the boys outside. 

“I take it things went okay yesterday,” she says. 

You glance at her, meeting her eye in the vanity mirror. “On the date, you mean.” 

She nods, and you look down at your hands, suddenly self-conscious. 

“It went great,” you say, “It’s just the idea of seeing them together again.” 

“I don’t know exactly what’s been happening with you all,” Chaeryeong says, “And I really don’t want to know. But I’ll tell you that Jisung is a heart-on-his-sleeve kind of idiot, and he’s been out of his mind over you.” 

You can’t help the guilty way that your chest constricts. “I’m fine with Jisung, I promise. It’s just a lot, with all of them. And Chan and I aren’t exactly on great terms.” 

Chaeryeong shrugs. “Well, just hang tight. They won’t come in here.” 

But just as she says that, there’s a brief knock on the door, and then the knob turns with a squeak and a head peeks in. 

“Hey, Chae, do you have my blue – oh.” 

It’s not Jisung or Chan, you realize, as your pulse slows again from the racing pace it took up at the sound of the door. It’s the other roommate, another pretty girl. She’s regarding you with big intelligent eyes, brushing her black hair behind her ear as she lets herself into the room all the way and shuts the door again. 

“You’re (Y/N),” she says. 

“Yeah,” you affirm awkwardly. 

She nods. “I’m Ryujin.” 

“Your blue sweater is on the closet door,” Chaeryeong tells her. 

Ryujin goes to fetch it, but talks at you over her shoulder as she crosses the room. “Chan’s out there eating all the breakfast cereal again, I’d stay in here if I were you.” 

“Why d’you think she’s in my room in the first place, dummy?” Chaeryeong says. 

“Did the date go okay?” Ryujin asks you, ignoring Chaeryeong entirely. 

“It was fine,” you say, “But Chan…” 

“Chan’s annoying even when he’s not on your shit list, it’s cool,” Ryujin says, slinging the sweater over her shoulder. “You’re friends with Dahyunnie right? She’s in show choir with us.” 

You get the feeling that Ryujin is just as clever as she looks. You like that. A grin creeps across your face before you know it. 

“She’s in my department,” you say. 

“You’re a senior too, huh?” Ryujin comments, sitting down on the bed across from you, “No offense, but you’re way out of their league. Especially Chan’s.”

“Don’t be mean,” Chaeryeong scolds. 

“It’s true,” says Ryujin, focusing unimpressed eyes on her roommate. “At least Changbin is really as charming as he acts and Jisung is genuinely a nice person. Chan’s fake as hell.”

“Fake?” you echo, intrigued even as your stomach sinks. 

Ryujin nods. “He’s hard to read. I feel like everything I know about him is just something he wants me to think. Like a veneer. None of it is real.” 

“You’re kind of right. I don’t even know him at all,” Chaeryeong pipes up, “Like, I know he eats all the food whenever he’s here and that Jisung likes him, but beyond that…” 

“That’s what I mean,” says Ryujin. 

You laugh humorlessly. “Hey, I’ve seen his O-face and even I don’t think I actually know anything about him.” 

“Ew,” Chaeryeong sends you a disgusted look. 

Ryujin laughs at that, and it’s stunning, the transformation of her face between rest and mirth. She’s got a pretty smile, and it makes you grin just to see it. 

You know that the three of you are being kind of mean to Chan, behind his back, but there’s something so therapeutic about it. These two girls aren’t involved parties, but they also don’t need to be brought up to speed on anything. They’re in the perfect middle zone to talk to about the trouble you’re having, aware but not involved. 

And for whatever reason, they seem to be on your side. 

“Sorry again, for busting in on you,” you say sheepishly. 

Chaeryeong shrugs dramatically as she walks over to her closet. “You’re good. We have enough girls coming and going, between choir and dance and everything. One more friend isn’t gonna kill us.” 

“A friend?” you grin. 

“Sure. We can be friends,” Ryujin says, surprising you. 

You would have expected the easy camaraderie from Chaeryeong, not Ryujin, but it feels so much more validating coming from the more stoic roomie. 

“I’d like that,” you say. 

“They’re coming this way,” says Chaeryeong suddenly. 

You glance at her. “The guys?” 

She nods, hopping up from her vanity and going to the door. “Jisung’s room.” 

Sure enough, you can hear footsteps in the hall, and hushed voices barely louder than the music from Chaeryeong’s speaker. She cracks the door to spy better, and you can hear Jisung’s worried pleading from outside. 

“Dude, I told you I’d get the drive myself.” 

“I saw the jacket by the door,” comes Chan’s voice, combative and steely. “If you’re embarrassed about getting your dick wet, then don’t bring people home without telling me.” 

“It’s not that, I just don’t think – dude!” Jisung yelps, and you hear the other door bounce open. 

There’s a beat, and then a sigh from Chan. 

“There’s nobody here,” he says pointedly. 

Ryujin looks at you. “Watch this.” 

She stands up and walks right out the bedroom door, careful to keep you out of sight as she closes it most of the way behind her. Chaeryeong keeps watching, sending you a questioning glance over her shoulder. 

“Hey, Ryujin,” you hear Jisung say. 

“Hey. Is there room for my new coat on the rack?” she asks. “Or should I keep it in my room?” 

“Your coat?” Jisung asks, so, so stupid. 

“Yeah. Is it in the way?” 

“Your coat,” says Chan, this time. 

“That’s what I said,” Ryujin’s voice is impatient. “Okay, obviously it’s fine. Cool.” 

And with that, she returns to the bedroom. 

“Now it’s my coat. Not yours,” Ryujin says to you, with a smirk. “You’re safe.” 

But you’re focused on something else. 

“He didn’t know it was me,” you say slowly. 

“Huh,” Ryujin sits back on the bed, closer to you this time, “No, I guess not. He would’ve been twice as pissy if he knew it was you.”

“Should I be offended that he didn’t notice that was all my stuff?” you wonder. 

“You said he wouldn’t be happy to see you,” Chaeryeong points out, “I’d say you dodged a bullet.” 

She’s right, but you don’t like it. You let yourself fall onto your back on the duvet; you’ve just woken up, but you’re so tired. It’s the stress. You’re too stressed. And to make matters worse, as you raise your arms to stretch, your dress pulls over your legs, and you’re suddenly aware of another gross sensation between your thighs. You groan to yourself.

Ryujin glances down at you. “Do you wanna shower?” 

You wonder if she can read minds. It wouldn’t surprise you. 

“I just wanna go home,” you admit. 

“We can sneak you past the boys,” Ryujin says, “No prob.” 

“Want me to call you a cab?” Chaeryeong asks. 

They’re too nice. Why is everyone so nice to you? 

“Sure,” you say, though it pains you a bit to accept the help, even though you need it. 

Chaeryeong peers into the hall again, and reports, “Coast is clear. They’re in his room, door’s shut.” 

“Better not wait,” sighs Ryujin. “C’mon.” 

As if you’re a politician and they’re your Secret Service, the two girls flank you out of the bedroom, one in front and one behind. You stop by the front door for your outer and your shoes, and once you’re safely in the stairwell, they fall into step with you, instead. 

“What should we tell Jisung?” asks Chaeryeong. “He’s gonna notice that you just vanished.” 

You think about it, as you climb down the stairs and leave the building. The girls go with you, right out to the street to wait for your taxi. You wonder if Chan and Jisung could see you from the window, if they looked. 

“Just tell him thanks,” you say finally. 

“Thanks,” Ryujin repeats. “That’s it?” 

“Yeah. Just thanks.” 

Ryujin nods. “Any message for Chan?” 

She’s obviously teasing, but you do consider it, for just a second. 

“I don’t think he needs to hear anything that I would want to say,” you answer. 

Chaeryeong comes over tentatively, and slides an arm around your shoulders, like she’s afraid you’re going to push her away. You wouldn’t, though. On the contrary, you’re already plotting how to get Kun to make you breakfast and cuddle with you when you get home. The affection is very much welcome. 

“I’m sorry we had to meet like this,” Chaeryeong says. 

“If we don’t see you sooner, we’ll definitely come say hi at graduation,” Ryujin adds. “We’ll be there for our club seniors, anyway, so just keep an eye out for us.” 

“I will,” you promise.

When your taxi pulls up to the curb, Ryujin opens the door and helps you in. The two of them stand there and wave until they’re out of sight, dots on the pavement behind you.

You feel like you’re always in cabs, miserable and alone, and this morning is no different. Some talk radio program fills the silence of the car, and there are plenty of commuters to watch out the window, but it’s just you, in the backseat, in yesterday’s clothes, with Jisung’s cum dried on the inside of your thighs.

**Author's Note:**

> (There are 2 more parts. Don't panic.)


End file.
